


The Christmas Foundling

by darkpartofmydestiny



Category: North and South (UK TV), North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkpartofmydestiny/pseuds/darkpartofmydestiny
Summary: On their first Christmas as a married couple, Margaret and John find a newborn baby abandoned outside the mill gates.
Relationships: Margaret Hale/John Thornton
Comments: 14
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter One

Margaret had always loved Christmas. When she was a child, it was a time of contemplation for her father, of charity and generosity. She spent hours with her parents preparing baskets for those in need. The memories were bathed in warmth and firelight, and Margaret recalled them fondly.

After Frederick left for the Navy, no Christmas had ever been quite the same.

This year would be different, she was certain of it. Though her mother and father were gone from this world, this was to be her first Christmas as part of a new family.

She had married John the summer before, on a glorious summer’s day soaked in sunshine. It felt like a hundred years ago now as the frost swept over Milton, bringing with it a chill that reached ones’ bones. But still the love that she had found warmed her even on the coldest days. She had not expected to find such contentment in marriage, but it filled her with a happiness she had never felt before.

Christmas Eve arrived with a flurry of snow that settled on the ground in a grey slush, freezing her toes. John had accompanied her to the midnight service at church, and they walked back through the quiet streets. He held her arm, steadying her as they walked cautiously over the uneven cobblestones made only more hazardous with a layer of ice. 

“My nose is frozen.” Margaret laughed as the mill loomed into site. “I am certain I shall never feel warm again. The church was freezing, my toes have all fallen off.”

“It isn’t that cold.” John chuckled, pulling her closer. “It’s barely even snowing. We’ll make a Northerner of you yet, wife.”

“I am not sure of that. I feel cold even on summer days.”

John chuckled, pressing a kiss to her bonnet covered hair. She smiled, leaning into him. Such displays of affection were not appropriate, but they could not seem to help themselves. What did it matter, anyway? It was past midnight, and the streets were deserted.

They paused in front of the gates as John fumbled in his pocket for the keys. Margaret could hear something. A faint snuffling sound, a bit like a whimper. She could scarcely make it out over the clinking of the keys as John searched for the right one.

“John.” Margaret stopped, her hand catching her husband’s arm. “Stop. Do you hear that?”

He paused, the key in the lock. He looked around, shrugging.

“No?”

The sound grew louder.

“Shh.” Margaret held up her hand.

It was difficult to see anything at all. The street lights did not shed much light here, and the imposing gates cast long shadows. She listened intently for the sound, trying to place its location. It sounded very close indeed, almost right beside her. She paused for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

“In the corner.” John said, for his eyes were far sharper than hers. “What’s that?”

She bent down, reaching out to touch the strange shape. Her hand met cloth. Her heart sank. Cautiously, she lifted the bundle into her arms, praying that it was not what she thought it was.

Moving out of the shadows, she peeled back the layers of hastily arranged sack cloth.

“Oh.” She breathed, catching sight of a tiny hand peeping through the brown bundle. Then, a perfect face appeared, most disgruntled indeed at being exposed to the cold. 

“John! A baby!”

John pushed the gate open, taking her lower back and gently leading her inside the mill as she held the precious thing to her. She rushed inside, taking the steps as cautiously as she could. When they were inside, the house was mercifully warm at once, she looked down at the child.

“Call for the doctor, John.” Her voice was breathless, her heart hammering in her chest. “Now.”

“I’ll go. Wake Mother, she’ll know what to do.”

“Alright. Go, quickly.” Margaret held the baby close.

Just how long had the poor thing been on the street?

The child stirred in her arms, a piercing cry coming from the bundle. Crying was a good sign, surely? Margaret knew little of how to care for a baby, and certainly not one this young. 

“Shh. There now, it’s alright. You’re safe now.”

Footsteps sounded from the floor above, and Margaret looked up to see Dixon, clad in her nightclothes, standing at the top of the stairs.

“What’s all the noise?” Dixon asked, yawning and rubbing at her eyes. “Am I going mad? I thought I heard a-”

“Dixon, wake Mrs Thornton. A child was left outside the mill gates.”

“A child?”

“A baby. Newborn, I think. Please, wake her for me.”

Margaret took the child into the living room. The dying remains of a fire burned in the grate. Sitting on the floor, for she wished to warm the child as quickly as she could, Margaret lay the baby on the floor and set about taking it from the swaddling.

A baby boy, tiny and frail, quite purple with indignation as he wailed. She felt awful for disturbing him, yet she could not leave him in those dirty, cold wrappings.

“I’m sorry.” Margaret whispered. “I’m so sorry, little one.”

“What’s going on?” said Mrs Thornton’s, her sharp voice catching Margaret quite by surprise.

“A baby left at the gates.”

Mrs Thornton walked into the room, peering down at the baby. She sat on the floor besides them both. Her expression softened as she stared down at the babe, - much in the same way her son’s had just moments before. A baby had the power to turn stone into water, Margaret was quickly realising. She watched in silence as Hannah Thornton’s gaze roamed over the baby with her usual precision.

“A newborn. The mother had enough sense to tie the chord, that’s a small blessing. Where’s John?”

“Gone for the doctor.” Margaret said. “We need to wrap him in something.”

“I’ll fetch blankets.” She pulled herself to her feet. “Hold him to you, keep him warm. Imagine leaving a babe outside in this weather! Have you called for the police?”

Margaret folded the baby’s wrappings back over him, though she discarded the ones that felt cold and damp to the touch. She lifted him, letting his head rest against her shoulder.

“No.” Margaret shook her head. “That can wait until morning. The doctor will be enough for tonight.”

“I’ll have one of the servants fetch the cradle.”

“You have a cradle?” Margaret asked. “Why?”

“It were one of the few things we kept hold of. Near a hundred years old, it is. I thought we would need it before long, I certainly did not expect this.”

“No.” Margaret said. “Neither did I.”

Some time later, when the cradle had been taken from wherever it had been stored and the doctor had declared the child fit and well, Margaret sat in her bedroom. She had decided it was best if the babe slept there, away from prying eyes of servants. She sat on the edge of the bed, John beside her, her hand clutching the baby’s. She could not tear her eyes from him. Though she had always liked babies well enough, she had never been this close to one for such a prolonged period of time. 

“What a strange evening this has been.” Margaret whispered.

“Aye, that’s right enough.” John replied, his voice far softer than usual.

She had not missed his fond smile, nor the little touches he had given the baby as he squirmed and wailed in Margaret’s arms that evening. She had thought he might be angry at the sudden disruption to their lives, but he had not expressed any such feelings.

“Why did she leave him here?” Margaret asked, for what felt like the tenth time that evening. “I do not understand it.”

“You know what some folk might say.”

“What?” Margaret asked with a frown.

“They’ll say I’m the father.”

“What?!” Margaret asked in horror as her eyes widened. She had not considered such a thing; perhaps she was naive in her innocence, but she had not considered the possibility that this baby had been left on their doorstep for that reason.

“I’m not.” John said quickly. “I’m just preparing you. There might be talk, gossip that I want you to pay no mind to. It isn’t unheard of, a babe being left at the doorstep for their father to deal with. We’ve been married less than a year, perhaps they’ll think I - dallied before we married. I’ve never known a woman besides you. I’ve nothing to hide.”

Margaret felt herself blush, her skin heated with embarrassment. She shook her head fervently.

“I certainly did not think that. Not for a moment!”

“Whose do you think it is?” John asked after a rather prolonged period of awkward silence.

“He. Not it.” Margaret corrected. “I don’t know. I’ve no idea.”

“Best get rid of these.”

John picked up the wrappings the babe had been left in, ready to toss them onto the fire. As he stood up, a scrap of paper fell out. He bent down, frowning as he read whatever it was. A surge of hope ran through her; had the mother’s child left word after all?

“What is it?”

“ _Miss Margaret. Look after my baby._ ” John read aloud. “They’ve spelt your name wrong.”

“It must be someone from Princeton.” Margaret frowned, trying to make sense of why someone would leave a baby for her - and who they could possibly be, to trust her with such a thing. “All the girls call me Miss Margaret, even now. Oh, John. If only she had come to me, I could have done something to help her.”

“Would you not notice a girl about to give birth?” John asked. “Would nobody notice? Her family?”

“I would think so but - they eat so little John. It would be no surprise if they carried small, I suppose. And they’ve all been so bundled up for winter, they could hide themselves with ease.”

“We’ll call for the police in the morning.” John said.

“No! She will be punished, imprisoned perhaps. She must have known we were out, that we would find the child when we returned home. I do not believe she wished to harm him. She left a note, she wrapped him up warmly somewhere he would be found. She is desperate, John - I cannot imagine such desperation. I will not see her come to harm, nor will I see her up before you in court.”

“You’re not thinking clearly.” John said. “She left him outside the mill gates. What if we had been asleep? The lad would have frozen to death within the hour. That in’t keeping him safe. Reckless behaviour from a reckless woman.”

“Perhaps she knew we were out at church. I don’t know, John. But I cannot imagine how she must feel at this moment. It is Christmas; a time of goodwill and generosity. Perhaps we have been given this child for a reason. If we cannot find her, we must adopt the baby.” Margaret said, running a finger down the child’s face. “I’ll not send him away. Would you condemn him to a life in the workhouse for the faults of his mother?”

“Margaret..”

“She trusted me, John. We ought not judge her too harshly. Whoever she is, she gave us her son to look after. That means something, does it not?”

“I suppose.” John said, though his face did not mirror his words.

“We need to find her. There must be something we can do to help.”

“What are you going to do, go door to door asking if anyone’s secretly had, and subsequently abandoned, a child?”

Margaret shook her head; she certainly had more common sense than that! Did he think her stupid?! She may not be wise to all the ways of the world, but she was certainly no blundering fool. 

“Of course not.”

“Then what?! You think a girl who's gone to such lengths to hide a babe would confess to all this just because you asked? You go round askin’ questions, she’ll go further into the woodwork. Let her come to you.”

“Word will spread. The servants have seen him, they will talk. The whole city will know soon enough.” Margaret sighed. “Once everyone knows, she is even less likely to come to us, but there is little we can do about that. I do not know what we can do, John.”

“We’ll keep him safe. Time will do the rest.”

Margaret stayed awake the entire night, watching over the tiny child. The cradle that had once housed John and Fanny, kept safe for so many years through hardship, now contained the unexpected arrival. Margaret sat by him, her finger held tight by his tiny fist, watching his chest rise and fall as he slept.

The little mite did not know anything, and did not seem to bear any signs of the no doubt difficult circumstances of his birth. He slept as soundly as a babe born in a palace. Margaret smiled, the tiny snuffling sounds warming her heart. What a fine little thing he was.

Margaret’s thoughts turned to the woman who had borne this child. What were her circumstances? Too many mouths to feed already, no room for another? No, the note had said Miss Margaret. The only ones who called her that were the young hands, little older than sixteen or seventeen. Unmarried. How cruel that she should find herself so desperate.

“We’ll look after you, little one. I swear it.” Margaret whispered. “You shall know love, I am certain, however it might come about.”

She wondered what his mother was doing at this moment. Was she well? Perhaps she had been hurt, or had taken a sickness. And what of the father? Did he know?

So many questions, and not a single answer.


	2. Chapter Two

The days passed in a blur. As they had expected, word spread about the child left at the mill gates - and just as John had predicted, gossip over the identity of the father of the child swirled too. He bore it all with his usual thick skin, dismissing the rumours with mere a wave of his hand.

One thing was for certain; the arrival of their unexpected guest had plunged the Thornton household into chaos. Taking care of the babe consumed Margaret’s every waking moment; even when the child slept, she sat over him just in case he needed her. She could not sleep, her thoughts racing whenever she closed her eyes. She had made no effort to find the mother, instead following John’s instruction that they should wait for her to come to them.

Each knock on the door had Margaret leaping to her feet. It was never the mystery woman Margaret was waiting for; only a stream of wellwishers bringing gifts for the Christmas Foundling, as he had come to be known. He had no name, for Margaret did not feel it her place to give him one. Though the note, despite its brevity, had been clear in its instruction, she could not help but believe his mother would return.

What had surprised her was the generosity of the people in Milton who had so little to give. The men in the mill had pooled their money to give the child a blanket, the women providing Margaret with advice that she sorely needed. Oh, there had been visits from those who had plenty, but to Margaret they seemed to treat the child like an exhibit in a zoo, peering into his cradle with a strange curiosity. She did not like that at all; he was not some creature for them to ogle, he was a child deserving of love and respect the same as anyone else in this world.

The nights were the strangest time; it felt as if she were in another world, inhabited only by her and this baby. She spent hours in the darkness listening to him take his little breaths, soothing him as best she could. They fed him in the way they had been instructed by the doctor, but he seemed never to settle. She rocked him in her arms for hours, handing him to John when her limbs ached too much so that he might continue the motion.

On the third day, Nicholas Higgins knocked at the kitchen door. Margaret was in there, the child a constant feature in her arms, preparing his milk. When she opened the door, he was surprised to see her. She smiled, stepping aside so he might come in. He frantically scraped at his boots, for the yard was muddy today Margaret knew, but she shook her head.

“Don’t worry about that, Nicholas. Come in out of the cold.”

“Afternoon, Mistress. Wanted to see if there was ‘ought I could do for ye, or the bairn.”

“That’s very kind. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?” Margaret rocked the baby in her arms. “We truly do not know who left him for us. If you’ve heard any word..”

Nicholas shook his head.

“No, Mistress. Can’t help you there, I’m afraid. We wanted to give the lad a gift. Poor mite with nowt in the world, left in rags in the snow. Mary were right sorry when she heard about it, let me tell you.”

“Nicholas, we don’t need-”

Nicholas held out a bedraggled old rag doll. It had clearly been well loved, stitches visible on every seam where the creature had been repaired time and time again. A thoughtful gift, for it came from a family who had so little. It was truly a sign of great kindness.

“It were Bessy’s, then Mary’s, then one of the Boucher girls took a likin’ to it. I know it in’t much, Mistress, but the little ones wanted him to ‘av something.”

“That’s so very kind . I shall place it in his cradle. Nicholas, might I ask a favour of you? I want the girl to know, whoever she is, that we will not judge her harshly. I am sure she is a Princeton girl, and I am certain she works here.”

“What makes ye think that?”

“There was a note in with the baby. I know there are not many girls who can write.” Margaret sighed. “It is just a feeling that she works here, I have no proof. Oh, I don’t know. I just ask that you keep an ear out for any information, and spread the word that there will be no legal repercussions should she choose to come forward.”

“Aye, I’ll do that. The lad will be lucky to have a home with you.” Nicholas said, nodding towards the child in her arms. 

“And we shall give him a home, but I would help his mother if she would only ask.”

The baby began to cry against her shoulder, and Nicholas put his hat on and tipped it to her.

“I’ll take my leave. God keep you.”

“And you. Thank you, Nicholas, and the children. For the gift.”

Some hours later, as the baby slept with the rag doll beside him, Margaret’s thoughts drifted to what their life would be like if this baby became hers. She had not dared to think such a thing; though she wished for children very much, she had thought there was a little more time. This child had come into their lives with no warning - was he a blessing from God, found in the small hours on the day of Jesus’ birth?

“You need to sleep.”

John’s voice made her jump. She had been so consumed in her thoughts that she had not even heard him come in. She shook her head; she could not sleep. Her mind was too full, her heart too heavy with thoughts of a girl out there alone, the secret she was keeping surely weighing her heavily too.

“I cannot.” Margaret whispered, though fatigue weighed her body down. “What if he needs me?”

John sat beside her. He wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned into him. He stroked at her hair, and she felt her eyes grow heavy. She swallowed hard, blinking as she willed herself to wake up.

“I’ll stay up.”

“No, John. You have work in the morning, you should rest.”

“You’ve not slept for two days. I’ve managed on less sleep. Bed, Mrs Thornton. I’ll mind our Christmas Foundling.”

Margaret watched the baby, his lips pursing as he slept. She felt an emotion that she could not describe, for she had never known it before. Perhaps it was the love a mother felt for her child; her heart felt as though it would stop beating and burst all at once with love for the little thing. She willed it away; she could not allow herself to feel that, not yet. His mother would come, she was certain of it.

Still, she would do whatever she could for him. He was missing something, something that made a person what they were. She could give him that at least.

“It has been three days, John, and nobody has claimed him.” Margaret whispered. “Do you think - should we think of a name for him? We certainly cannot call him the Christmas Foundling for much longer.”

“No, I suppose we ought to think of something.”

“He was born on Christmas Eve. A festive name, perhaps, while we wait?”

There was a silence as they stared down at the child, both trying to think of a name that suited their unexpected arrival. Margaret had never given much thought to what she might name her children. It always felt like something far in the future.

“Joseph. David. Melchior. Balthazar.” John said. 

Margaret’s nose wrinkled at the last suggestion, for the name Balthazar certainly seemed too enormous for such a tiny thing. David, that would do for now.

“David.” Margaret said. “For now. Until his mother comes.”

“What makes you think she’ll come?” John asked. “You talk as if she didn’t leave her child out in the cold for any villain to find. What’s to say she cares what happens to him?”

“She was desperate.” Margaret said.

John shook his head, exhaling sharply. His voice was tight, his jaw set.

“You know nothing of her, and show her too much kindness. This sort of thing isn’t uncommon.” The baby began to fuss, and John lifted him out of the cot without a word. “I’ve seen many a girl up before me in court. Be thankful we found him before something awful happened.”

“I wish there was something that could be done.” Margaret sighed. “How many babies have been lost?”

“I don’t know. I just know that there’s things that go on in Princeton we don’t know - and I don’t want you to know.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Margaret asked, worrying her lip. “Perhaps I should stay awake, just in case.”

“Go to bed.”

“Wake me if-”

“Lie down.” John said.

He kissed her forehead, gently pushing her shoulders so she would finally take her rest.

“I will stay awake just a few minutes longer.” Margaret sighed, though she relented and climbed under the covers.

“What’s this mangy thing?” John asked, lifting the doll and wrinkling his nose. “It’s filthy.”

“Nicholas brought it. It is not filthy, merely well loved. I thought it was sweet. The baby seems to like it.”

“The baby is three days old, he doesn’t know what he likes.”

“Scrooge.” Margaret teased. “What’s the harm in it?”

“Hmm.”

The baby stirred, making the little noises that Margaret had come to know as a warning that he was about to scream. She looked up at John, who still held the ragdoll in his hand.

“Put it back.”

John did as he was instructed, and the baby stopped his noise at once.

“A coincidence.” John said, shaking his head. He smiled down at the baby.

“You are fond of him.”

“I’m not made of stone, despite what folk say. He’s a sweet lad.”

“Would you be happy to take him in?” Margaret asked. “I know I said that we must, but I was wrong to make that decision alone. If you do not want to, I cannot ask you to do that.”

“No, you’re right. If she doesn’t come forward, we’ll adopt him. It’s not how I thought we’d have our first child, but I’d not send him away.”

“Thank you.” Margaret said, tracing a finger down the child’s face. “I just want him to have a good life, John. A chance at happiness.”

“I know you do. And I want you to sleep. Lie down.”

Margaret reluctantly lay her head on the pillow, yawning as her eyes seemed to close of their own volition. 

“Perhaps just for a moment.” 

When she next opened her eyes, it was dawn. 


	3. Chapter Three

Was it possible for a night to go on forever? Margaret was beginning to think so. She stared up at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of David’s breathing. He began to stir, the now familiar fussing that meant he was about to cry. Margaret almost leapt from the bed in her rush to get to him before he woke John. In darkness, she lifted him from the crib and held him to her.

“Shh, little one.” She whispered, to little effect.

She left the room, wandering from room to room without aim as she tried to calm the now wailing babe in her arms. He was hungry, most likely. No matter how much she rocked or soothed him, he just would not settle.

“Margaret.”

Though it was a mere whisper, Hannah’s voice was loud enough to give Margaret a fright. She had been lost in her own world, unaware of her surroundings. She turned, seeing her mother in law dressed in her night clothes, hair braided and candle held out in front of her. The light was welcome, as was the unexpected company.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to wake you.”

“He’ll be hungry.”

“I know. I’ll go and prepare his milk. There’s no sense waking the servants. I just - it is cold in the kitchen, and I did not want to leave him alone and-”

Hannah set the candle down and held out her arms.

“Here, let me take him.”

Hannah set her candle down, taking the baby from Margaret’s arms before she could argue. “Fetch him some milk, then I shall watch him for a few hours. You need to sleep.”

“I am fine. You sound just like John.”

“Perhaps you should listen to us. I remember what it was like to have a newborn, and no matter the circumstances this isn’t much different. The exhaustion drives you half to madness. I doubt you’ve had more than an hour’s sleep these past few days.”

“I’m quite well.”

“Feed him, then take your rest. It is no hardship to walk a baby around.” Hannah said, a small smile on her lips as she rocked the baby. “Quite a pleasant thing, really.”

“If you are sure.” Margaret said hesitantly, picking up the candle Hannah had discarded.

Hannah shooed her away with a wave of her hand, pressing a kiss to the babe's forehead as she began whispering to him. Margaret smiled, watching as her mother in law walked away, rocking the child and telling him stories not meant for Margaret's ears.

Some time later, having prepared the milk in almost complete darkness, Margaret returned upstairs. It was silent, almost eerily so. She could not hear anything at all, a sensation she had not experienced since the baby had arrived. There was always noise of some sort.

"Hannah?" Margaret called softly.

There was no response.

Frowning, Margaret walked slowly down the corridor towards the master bedroom. As she passed Hannah's room, she noticed the door was ajar. Knocking gently, she nudged it open. Holding the candle aloft, she smiled at the sight that greeted her. Hannah sat in the small chair in the corner, eyes closed. The baby mirrored her expression, Margaret saw as she got closer, his eyes closed at last. She gently lifted the baby, hoping against all hope that he would not stir.

"Goodnight, Margaret." Hannah's voice, thick with sleep, startled her once more.

"Goodnight. Thank you."

* * *

The next day, after a fitful few hours sleep, Margaret lifted David from the crib. He had been feeding well and seemed to be thriving, but there was still an emptiness in Margaret’s own heart. It was as if something inside her was telling her she was not meant to be this child’s mother - that his own mother would be coming for him soon. It did not make her sad as one might expect; only hopeful. Perhaps she was a fool to have such hope, for there was no reason to think the way that she did. John had told her as much. But still, she could not silence the voice in her heart that told her that this child did not belong with them.

The strange curiosity about the child left at the mill gates had started to fade; the morning passed without visitors. Margaret sat in a chair by the fire in the parlour, the child sleeping peacefully nestled against her. He was such a contented baby, unaware of the chaos that swirled around him. If his mother did not come forward, Margaret knew she would be blessed to call this child her son. She could not allow herself to think of that just yet; if she allowed him into her heart, the pain of losing him would be too much. No, for now she was merely keeping him safe.

Just after the clock had chimed eleven, there was a knock on the parlour door. Margaret looked down at David, who seemed undisturbed by the nose as he slept on. 

“Yes?” She called as quietly as she could.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed behind her, and Margaret looked up to see Dixon standing behind her, face pale and drawn. Margaret’s breath caught, for such a grave expression could surely mean only one thing.

“A visitor, Mistress.” Dixon said tightly, her eyes fixed on the child sleeping in Margaret’s arms.

“Is it her?” Margaret stood gingerly, taking care not to disturb the babe in her arms.

He snuffled, tiny lips puckering as his brows knitted. Margaret held her breath, freezing stock still. It would not do for him to wake now; let him sleep a while longer, so that she might have this most difficult conversation in peace.

“Yes, Mistress. I believe so, anyway. I don’t think anyone else would look so wretched. She’s waiting at the kitchen door.”

“Would you watch him?” Margaret asked. “I think it best I speak with her first, to make sure she is who she says she is.”

Dixon held her arms out, taking the baby from her wordlessly. She was sure she saw tears in her eyes; the whole household had grown rather fond of the child. It would certainly be emptier with his absence, that much was true.

Margaret’s heart raced as she made her way to the kitchen, wondering who she would see. She had half a dozen notions in her mind as to who the mother of their Christmas Foundling could be, but as she entered the kitchen, she realised she could not have been more wrong.

Mary Higgins stood in the doorway, eyes downcast, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Oh Mary.” Margaret rushed to her, pulling her close.

Mary sobbed into her shoulder. Her body shook with the effort, and Margaret clung to her. She was not sure she had ever heard such a sorrowful noise; she stood, motionless as she held this weeping girl in her arms, unsure of what she could do to ease her cries.

Mary, seemingly aware she was openly weeping onto the Mistress of Marlborough Mills in a kitchen full of servants, pulled back. She rubbed furiously at her eyes, straightening herself up. She stared down at the floor, lip between her teeth as hands rubbed together, betraying her nerves.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I din’t know wharrelse to do.”

“It’s alright. It’s alright now, I swear it.” Margaret soothed. “He is upstairs, quite well but missing his Mama.”

“Pa doesn’t know. He’ll be so angry, Miss. He’ll turn me out.”

It would be too assumptive to say Mary was wrong; though Margaret doubted Nicholas was capable of abandoning his child in such a way, it was not beyond the realm of imagination. Girls were thrown out of their homes for far less. Still, he needed to be told whatever the consequences might be.

“He loves you, Mary. He wants the best for you.”

Mary shook her head, looking up at Margaret with a tearstained face. She looked wretched; grief stricken, cold to her very marrow. No mother to guide her, her sister gone. She must have felt so alone.

“We’ve so many mouths to feed already. I’ve disgraced us.”

“We will think of something. I will help in any way I can. Come inside, warm yourself by the fire for as long as you need. You feel half frozen.”

Margaret shooed the servants from the kitchen, though they had already heard all they needed. The news of this would be around Milton in no time at all; indeed, all it would take was for one of these gossiping girls to step into the yard for the word to be spread. She caught Jane by the arm. The servant blinked dazedly at the contact. It was little secret that none of the servants held Margaret in much regard; she did not care about that. All that mattered was that Mary’s secret was protected until such a time she herself was ready to reveal it.

“Jane, I am going to speak plainly.” Margaret spoke so quietly there was no chance anyone other than Jane could hear, her eyes darting to where Mary stood by the fire to make sure she was not listening. “Nobody is to leave this house until I allow it. I’ll not have this news reach her father before she can tell him herself. If news of this spreads beyond this house, you shall all be searching for a new employer, every single one of you, no matter who tells. Have I made myself clear?”

Jane’s eyes widened; perhaps the threat was a little too much, but Margaret did not care. She would protect Mary as much as she could. She could not stand gossiping at the best of times, and their servants certainly could not keep anything quiet.

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

Good! Let them be afraid, for she would not hesitate in following her word.

Margaret fetched Mary a cup of tea, wishing to warm her just a little. She looked so small, so very young huddled by the fireplace. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles; had she slept at all these past few days? Had she paced the floor as Margaret had, wondering what her child was doing at that moment?

Mary was a timid thing, she always had been. Too many questions and she would surely scuttle away like a scared little mouse. Detail did not matter now - Margaret must ask only the questions that most pressingly needed an answer..

“Why did you leave him with us?” Margaret asked softly, bringing two chairs to the fire so that Mary might rest.

Mary sat down gratefully, her eyes squeezing shut as her hands pressed to the cup of tea so tightly Margaret feared it would shatter.

“I panicked.” Mary whispered, her voice as timid as it had always been. “I were alone, Miss. I found a quiet alley, that’s where he were born..”

Margaret shuddered; Mary needed to be seen by a doctor. An alley was no place to give birth, nevermind in the cold winter winds.

“I will send for our doctor to see you.” Margaret said. Mary shook her head, eyes fearful. “I will pay, do not concern yourself with that. Tell me what happened.”

“I was walkin’ around with him fer hour. I couldn’t go home. I had the idea of leavin ‘im with you for weeks, I had the note with me but I thought it were a mad idea. Then I saw you and the Master, walkin’ to church. You were smilin’, Miss, and the pair of you looked so happy. I went to the mill, waited there ‘till I heard you comin’. I left him there and waited until I seen you pick him up. Then I left. Pa was out till the small hours, he never knew I were gone.”

“Oh, Mary. You must have been in such pain.”

Mary nodded, her eyes filling with tears once more.

“It didn’t matter. All that mattered is that he were safe. I weren’t thinkin’ right.” Her voice went quiet. “I need him back, Miss. I know I’ve caused terrible trouble, but I need him back.”

“Of course you must have him back.” Margaret patted her hand. “Of course. I will send for the doctor to examine you and then I shall take you home.”

“Miss, might I ask one more favour? You’ve done so much for me, for us. I don’t want to be cheeky but-”

“Anything, Mary.”

“Will you help me tell him?” She whispered. “Pa, I mean. I don’t rightly know what I’d say.”

“I don’t-”

“He won’t shout at you. It’ll come better from you, Miss. You’ll know just what to say, like you always do..”

Margaret was not sure about that. She truly had no notion of just how Nicholas would react to this news. It must be handed delicately, discreetly - but she did not know how to even begin to tell him that his daughter had borne him a grandchild in secret.

“Where is he now?” Margaret asked.

“In mill.” Mary said.

“I will go and ask Mr Thornton to excuse him for the day.” Mary’s face paled as she shook her head. “On full pay, please do not worry. I will talk to him. First, please let me send for the doctor. You don’t look well.”

“Can I see him first?” Mary asked. “Please, Miss.”

“Of course. I’ll bring him down. He’s been well looked after. We’re all very fond of him.”

“What’ll folk think of me?” She whispered. “I’ve been a right fool. Everyone will know what I did.”

“Let’s not worry about that.” Margaret said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

The door opened, and Dixon peered around it. 

“Mistress.”

Margaret nodded, and Dixon walked in holding the mewling baby in her arms. Mary’s eyes snapped to him, her lip wobbling as she held her arms out to him. Margaret nodded to Dixon, and the babe was placed in his mother’s waiting arms. Margaret felt her throat tighten once more, the emotion too much. Though she had come to love the babe, he was not hers. He was not meant to be hers; she was only meant to return him to his rightful place.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Some hours later, when Mary had been examined and declared to be well but in need of rest and a square meal or two, Margaret set about performing the favour that had been asked of her. She wrapped herself tightly in her shawl, willing herself courage for this most difficult conversation. She had no way of knowing how Nicholas would react. She had promised Mary that everything would be alright, but that was not her promise to make.

She went to John’s office first; he had no idea of what had happened. She did not knock; he would not refuse her entry or send her away; he never did. Indeed, when she closed the door behind her without saying a word, he simply looked up from his work for a moment before resuming his writing with a smile on his face.

“John.”

He did not look, scribbling furiously at whatever he was doing. Margaret wrung her hands together, wishing he would just look at her for a moment longer. She found the words stuck in her throat.

“Mmm?”

“You were right. The baby’s mother came for him.”

John’s eyes snapped up, the pen slipping from his fingers.

“Who?”

“Mary Higgins.”

The words hung in the air for several moments. John blinked; perhaps the name was just as much a shock to him as it had been to Margaret herself. Margaret was not entirely sure she had ever heard Mary say more than a few words at a time before, so the barrage of information she had received this morning had left her a little dazed.

“Does her father know?”

“No. She has asked that I tell him. She is terrified, John.”

“Where is she now?”

“At the house. I called for the doctor to make sure she is well. The poor thing gave birth in an alley, John, cold and frightened and alone. I cannot imagine how scared she must have been.”

“I’ll get Higgins.”

“Thank you. Bring him here. I’ll tell him away from the house. If he is upset or angry - I think it best Mary does not know. She is in the kitchen with the baby, she needs to eat well. I’ve had cook fetch her a plate of food.”

John got up out of his chair and walked to the office door. Margaret turned away, staring out of the window as he talked to someone, presumably instructing them to fetch Nicholas. Her entire body felt numb. She should be happy, surely, that the mother she had so desperately wished to find had come forward of her own accord.

She felt nothing.

“She’s keeping the child?” John asked, his arms coming to rest around her waist.

She turned in his arms, wishing to be close to him. She looked up at him, and saw a sadness in his eyes that was surely reflected back to him in her own. He had become fond of their guest; perhaps he had never believed his mother would come and had begun imagining a life with David in it. Margaret had never allowed herself that indulgence; a small mercy indeed.

“Yes. If her father allows it, of course.”

“And if he doesn’t allow it?”

There was a heavy knock at the door. Margaret shook her head, stepping away from the window as she wrung her hands together, anxiety overwhelming her. 

“Master? It’s Higgins. You wanted to see me?” Margaret and John looked at one another, frozen in time. When they told Nicholas of all this, their time with their Christmas Foundling would truly be at an end. Margaret nodded that John should call him in.

“Come in.”

“Master?”

“Good afternoon, Nicholas.” Margaret said.

“Mistress Margaret. I didn’t expect to see you.”

Margaret offered him a tight smile. She took a deep breath, looking to her husband for reassurance. He nodded that she should continue, and she was reassured by his presence. If she could not find the words, he surely would.

“Nicholas, would you be so good as to sit down? I need to speak with you.”

“Why?” He asked, confusion passing over his face. 

Margaret wondered what was running through his mind; did he think he was about to be sacked. She gestured once more that he should sit down, and he did so with reluctance. The news would surely be a shock, and he would be far better sitting down for the news.

“It’s about Mary.” Margaret hesitated, her heart hammering as she tried to think of the words. She paused for a moment too long, and Higgins straightened in the chair.

“Mary? What about her? Is she hurt?”

“No, she is well.” Margaret swallowed hard, willing herself to have the courage that Mary needed from her. “The baby, Nicholas.”

Nicholas Higgins was not a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination. Understanding dawned on his face immediately, his jaw slackening with shock. Indeed, Margaret knew a little of how he felt; Mary Higgins had not even crossed her mind when considering who the mother might be. Quiet, timid Mary Higgins.

“No.” He murmured, his eyes closing. “No, it can’t be.”

“Yes. The baby is hers, Nicholas.”

“You’re certain?”

“She told me herself.” Margaret said. “She’s in the house now.”

He sagged in the chair, his head falling into his hands. Margaret looked over at John. He shook his head, indicating that they should leave him. She pressed her lips together, watching anxiously as he processed the news. When he finally raised his head, he looked - broken, really. 

The silence was overwhelming. 

“Nicholas-” 

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” Nicholas said at last. 

“I think she was afraid.”

“Of me? I’d have helped her, spoken to the lad, made damn sure he made an honest woman of her. I should have watched her closer, stayed at home more. I just thought-”

“That doesn’t matter now, Nicholas. She needs her father, that’s all.” Margaret patted his shoulder. “She is frightened of what will happen next.”

“Another mouth to feed.” He muttered. “A boy, aye?”

“Yes.”

“A boy.” His lips quirked up. “A Higgins.”

“You’re not angry?”

He thought on that question for a moment, jaw tight and lips thin. Margaret’s eyes darted to John, who shook his head. And so she waited, waited with baited breath and hammering heart for Nicholas to speak of his feelings.

“I’m not best pleased. But it’s done. No point takin’ it out on her. She’s my blood, Mistress. I’d do anything for my girls, anything. Her sister in’t here anymore, Mary’s all I’ve got left of their mother. She’s a good girl. I’ll see her right. And the bairn too.”

“You’re a good man, Higgins.” John spoke, watching from his place in the corner.

“I don’t know about that. But I’ll do what’s right.” He turned to face John. “Will she get in trouble with the law?”

“I’ll see that she doesn’t.” John said. “I’ll do my best, as long as she keeps herself out of trouble.”

“Thank you, Master. And thank you, Mistress, for takin’ care of him. Can’t thank you enough.”

“We just want to see him home safe.” Margaret said softly. “We will miss him, of course, but he belongs with his family.”

Some hours later after the babe had been taken back to Princeton, Margaret looked down at the empty cradle. How wonderful it had been to have a child in the house, even just for a few days. She would miss him, certainly, but she felt a great relief that he was where he belonged. She would do all that she could to help Mary. Indeed, she wished to help anyone in that terrible situation, who felt hopeless enough to abandon their babies in the hopes that they might live a better life. This whole ordeal had made her see another side to the life of those in Princeton; that poverty led to desperate decisions. She did not know how she could ease their suffering, but she was determined to try.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes. It just feels quiet, that is all.” Margaret said softly. “Empty, somehow. He was only here for a few days, yet it feels like a lifetime.”

“You did a good thing today.”

“I did what was right.” Margaret said, reaching out to touch the soft sheets. “Why do I feel so sad?”

John pulled her close, her face resting against his chest as a tear rolled from her eye. She sniffed heavily, willing herself not to cry. It was no use; the tears fell all the same.

“Hey now. It’s alright.”

“I know it is.” Margaret tried to smile, pulling away and brushing the teas from her cheeks. “I know everything is just as it should be. I am happy, truly I am. Perhaps it is relief.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps you are exhausted. You’ve barely slept.”

“Yes. You are right, of course. I am sure that is all it is.” Margaret exhaled, rubbing at her face. “I think I shall sleep.”

She lay down, squeezing her eyes closed. Her throat burned, her eyes filling with tears. She swallowed hard, determined not to cry any more. There was nothing to cry about, not really. She felt John’s eyes on her, the mattress sagging slightly as he lay beside her. She felt his hands, warm and calloused through years of hard work, cup her cheek. 

“There is no shame in being disappointed, you know.”

“I am not.” Margaret bit out. “I am just tired. I am quite well, I can assure you. The baby is where he belongs, and I shall provide for him in whatever way Nicholas allows.”

“He won’t take your charity.”

Margaret turned onto her side, opening her eyes and facing her husband.

“I feel responsible, John.”

“It is not your doing.”

“But-”

“Do you not think you’re being a little - hysterical about all this?”

“Hysterical.” Margaret echoed dully.

John paused; perhaps the hurt in her voice had been clear to him. He seemed to take more care as he thought of what to say next.

“You’ve returned the child to his mother, it is not your place to interfere now.”

“But they have so little-”

“Higgins will see to it. Let the man have some pride, Margaret.”

“But-”

“No. We did all we could for the lad, he’s with his family now. What would you do, hand Higgins a thousand pound?”

“No, obviously not but-”

“He won’t take anything from you. He doesn’t want charity.”

“Will you let me speak?!” Margaret asked, exasperated by her husband’s constant interruption. “I am not a fool, John. But there must be something that will ease the situation for them? Some practical manner of helping? We asked for her to come forward, we cannot just-”

“And she left him on the street in the first place!” John countered. “By rights she should be arrested. I am making sure that does not happen. Is that not favour enough?”

“John. Please.”

“I don’t know what you expect to be able to do. She took him back of her own free will.”

“I just want-”

“You want the best for her. I know you do. But this isn’t your place to interfere.”

“She trusted me John. I must be able to do something to make her life easier.”

“I don’t know.” He gritted out, lying beside her. 

He tugged her towards him, her cheek resting against the wool of his waistcoat. The material scratched her cheek, and she would make it quite damp with her tears, but she did not move away from him. Instead, she listened to the steady thrum of his heart, as well as the faint ticking of his pocket watch. She found herself soothed by the steady rhythms, his hand stroking at her back.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured. “I’m sorry for speaking to you harshly.”

“Thank you.” Margaret whispered back, her body heavy as sleep began to wash over her. 

“I suppose-” John began hesitantly. “I suppose I did not believe she would come for him. That I had taken what you said about adopting him to heart, no matter what haste you said it in that first night. I had begun to see him in our future, even if you did not.”

“I’m sorry.” Margaret reached up blindly, her fingers reaching the soft stubble of his jaw. “I suppose - a small part of me thought - hoped, maybe. But he was not meant to be ours, John.”

“I know. And we’ve not been married more than six month. A fanciful notion, on my part. You were right all along. I should’ve known you would be.” 

His words were not mocking; indeed, they were filled with a warm admiration that made her heart sing. Though she felt sorrow claim her this night, she knew that John would prove to be an admirable husband through times of hardship. Had there ever been any doubt of that?

“Sleep, love.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair, pulling her to him.

Margaret nodded, before she succumbed to a blissfully dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter Four

The house returned to normality surprisingly quickly. After a few days, it was as if their Christmas Foundling had never been there at all. The crib was stowed away safely, ready for the next soul who would require it. Though Margaret did not regret a moment of what had passed, she rather hoped the next occupant would be a more permanent fixture at Marlborough Mills.

As expected, the true identity of the baby spread around the mill and Milton itself rapidly. Perhaps a scandal was too strong a word for it, for neither abandoned babies nor unwed mothers were unheard of in Princeton. It was certainly a topic of conversation amongst the wealthy and poor alike.

One morning in early January, Margaret was leaving the house for her morning walk when she caught sight of Nicholas in the yard. He caught sight of her, and if she had not known better she would have said he avoided her gaze, turning away and busying himself with something in the hope that she would not see him.

“Nicholas!” She called out, not caring that she was being too familiar in a yard full of workers.

“Mistress.” He tipped his hat to her. “Awful cold out today.”

“Quite.” Margaret agreed. “I was just wondering how Mary was. I haven’t seen her for a few days. I went to the kitchen yesterday, thinking that she might be there but-”

Nicholas’ jaw tightened and he shook his head stiffly.

“She’s at home, Mistress. Someone’s got to look after all the bairns.”

Of course - the baby was still so young. It was unreasonable of her to have expected Mary to return so quickly, and Margaret cursed herself for her naivety. Something about Nicholas’ expression told her that things were perhaps not as simple as he suggested.

“Is she well?” Margaret asked, brow creasing with worry.

“Aye, she’s fine. If you’ll excuse me, Mistress, much to do.”

With another terse nod, he left, disappearing into the crowd of men all hard at work. Margaret stood for a moment, getting quite in the way (though nobody dared say anything). After a moment, she regained her wits and set about checking on Mary’s welfare herself. As well as that, there was a question she wished to ask.

In Princeton, Margaret knocked on the door, already hearing the noise and chaos that so many children in such a confined space brought. She should never have doubted Nicholas would be anything but supportive to his daughter; a man who took in so many children that were not his kin could hardly do otherwise.

“Mornin’ Miss!” One of the Boucher children answered the door, but did not stay still enough for Margaret to determine which one it was. Indeed, they ran back into the room in a blur, back into the dense pile of children that sat on the bed..

Mary looked up from her place at the table, her face turning pale as she caught sight of Margaret. At John’s instruction, Margaret had stayed away from Princeton for some weeks. She had not wished to be seen as interfering, so had given Mary time to come to terms with all that had happened. It was not her place to tell the girl what to do, or to pry too deeply into her life.

But there was a question Margaret wished to ask of Mary, and there was no use putting it off any longer.

“Miss Margaret.” Mary stood up hastily, the bundled baby in her arms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were comin’. It’s a right state in ‘ere.”

“Please, don’t worry about that. Good morning, children.” Margaret greeted the rabble of children with a smile. “Now, why don’t you go outside and play so that I might have a word with Mary?”

The swarm of children darted out of the front door in an excited, noisy stream, pushing and shoving as they went. The door closed with a clatter, deadening the noise of six squabbling children, leaving the tiny house in silence.

Mary exhaled, closing her eyes. She leaned back in her chair, raising the bundle of blankets to rest on her shoulder. The child was silent, sleeping soundly despite the noise. He had never slept so peacefully in the days Margaret had cared for him. She smiled to herself; perhaps he had just needed his mother.

“I’d forgotten what that sounds like.” She said quietly. “Can I get you somethin’, Miss?”

Margaret certainly did not want to ask Mary to get up. She looked exhausted, eyes ringed by dark circles, her face gaunt and skin pale. It was little surprise that the stress of her situation had taken a physical toll. She needed rest, peace and quiet - things that were certainly hard to come by here.

“No, thank you. I just wanted to ask after you. I haven’t seen you in the mill, I saw your father this morning and-”

“Pa asked Master if I could have some time off. Unpaid, of course. I know it’s dead cheeky of me to have asked after all he’s done for me.” Mary avoided Margaret’s eyes. “The both of you, I mean. I’m sorry fer’ it.”

John had not mentioned this request to her, but she was certainly glad he had granted it. Mary needed time to rest, for her body to heal - and her mind, too, for it must have been an awful few days for her.

“No, I am glad that you did. You must rest. Have you seen the doctor? He promised me he would call on you this week.”

“Yesterday.” Mary said. “Everythin’ as it should be, he said.”

“Good.”

There was a brief, awkward silence as Margaret waited for Mary to say something. Perhaps she would be waiting for a long time, for Mary had never been talkative by nature. After some time passed, seemingly unable to keep quiet any longer, she spoke in one garbled rush.

“I can’t come back to mill.” Mary said. “What’ll folk make of me? I’ve seen them stare at me when I step foot outside. It’ll be worse there.”

That explained her absence, then.

“We won’t allow it.”

“You can’t control folk’s minds, Miss. They’ll gossip about me no matter what you do.” Mary pressed a kiss to the sleeping baby’s forehead. “I know I was wrong, Miss. I know I’ve been very wicked.”

“No. No, I did not come here to hear this. Please, Mary, do not speak of yourself so harshly. Who is the father? He should take responsibility for his part in this.”

“Gone.” Mary said, her eyes filling with tears. “He is gone, Miss.”

“Dead?” Margaret asked in horror.

Mary shook her head. She clung to the sleeping babe tightly, as though he would be taken from her. Margaret regretted raising the subject, for the pain in Mary’s eyes was a terrible thing to see. A single tear slipped from brimming eyes, and Mary rubbed at it furiously.

“No. No, though I wouldn’t know if he were. He were one of Mr Thornton’s Irish. Pa would have my head if he knew. He’s a good man, Miss. I thought he were, anyway. He didn’t know, he left in the summer. By the time I knew myself, it were November already.”

“Oh, Mary.”

“He didn’t force me or nothin’.” Mary whispered, her cheeks flaming red. “He’s gone, tha’s all. He can’t read, nor write. I’ve no way of tellin’ him even if I knew where he’d gone to. He may as well be dead.”

“There must be a way that we could find him.” Margaret said, leaning forward and taking Mary’s hands in her own. “Hope cannot be lost. Surely, if you know where he was from, if he had family-”

Mary shook her head, tears falling.

“I don’t know none of that. Just gone, one day. I went to his lodgings and-” Mary squeezed her eyes shut, unable to speak. “Leave it be, Miss. Don’t tell anyone. Pa doesn’t know. Please.”

“I’m sorry, Mary. How difficult this must have been for you!”

“I don’t know what we’re goin’ to do Miss. The whole of Princeton is gossipin’ about me. I’ll have no job soon enough, and we need my money-”

“No job? Why?”

“The master won’t want a girl like me there.” Mary whispered, clutching the baby closer. “The things folk’ll be sayin’ about me-”

“I can assure you Mr Thornton has no intention of letting you go. He is pleased with your work. That’s why I came, in fact. The mill is no place for a baby. I thought you might like to be moved to the house.”

Mary frowned, apparently confused by Margaret’s words.

“The house?”

Margaret nodded, continuing her proposition.

“Our cook has terrible arthritis in her fingers and has thoughts of retiring. She needs an assistant to train, so that she might be content knowing she has left the kitchen in capable hands. She’s rather particular, but I am certain you will meet her standards. You could bring the baby with you until he is old enough to be left with someone.”

“R-really?” Mary asked hesitantly.

“Yes. I’ve heard your food is rather good.” Margaret smiled. “I meant what I said, Mary. I will help you in whatever way I can. Please know that you can rely on me. Not out of charity, nor pity. Bessy was my dearest friend, though I only knew her a short while. Your family are dear to me, Mary. You are dear to me.”

“Thank you.” Mary said thickly, looking down at the floor. “I don’t deserve this. Not after what I did.”

“Hush now. It is all in the past. You did what you thought was right.”

“I were a fool.” Mary said softly. “Bessy would never have got herself in such a mess.”

“None of that! Please, Mary. I only want the best for you. For you both. Please say you will take the position. I truly believe you well up to the task - I would have offered the job to you either way.”

The compliment made Mary beam with pride, her tired eyes shining with unshed tears. Margaret smiled, startled at the change in her already. She was a sweet girl; she merely needed a chance to stand on her own two feet, out of her father’s shadow.

“Course I will. Thank you, Miss. Mistress.”

“Then it is settled. I will arrange for you to be fitted for a uniform. Now, I was thinking of something else. We have a room spare in the servant’s quarters. I know it would be difficult to leave your family, but there are so many of you here. Would you care to take it? You could bring the baby, of course. I think it would be quite comfortable for you both.”

“Really?” Mary asked eagerly, for jobs with lodgings were a precious prize indeed - and unheard of for a servant with a child of her own. “Aye, Miss. Thank you.”

Perhaps it would not be a practical arrangement forever; the child would grow and need freedom to run and play, but for now at least, it was something.

* * *

As Margaret settled down that evening to read in bed, wrapped in half a dozen layers to keep out the terrible cold that had crept into the house, her mind kept wandering once more to Mary. There was surely something that could be done to find the father of the baby. It was not her place, she knew that, but was the situation as hopeless as Mary had suggested?

The door opened gently. John poked his head around, and upon seeing she was still awake, grinned broadly.

“Evening.”

“Good evening. I thought I would not see you today.” Margaret teased, putting down her book. “You are very late.”

“I know, I know. I’ve still much to do, but I did not wish to leave you alone in an icy bed.”

He took off his jacket, placing it on the end of the bed. As he always did, he would hang his clothes up neatly for the next day. He took the same precise care in undressing as he did in every other aspect of his life. Margaret watched for a while as he readied for bed, still fascinated by his meticulous routine. What an odd thing to enjoy watching, she thought.

When at last he climbed in to bed beside her, she rolled over so that her head was resting on his chest. His hands stroked at her hair, and she closed her eyes contentedly.

“I went to see Mary Higgins today.”

“Did you? You never said.”

“I’m telling you now. I found out a little about the father of the baby. One of your Irishmen, it seems. One of the men who stayed on after the strike ended, I suppose.”

“Which?”

“She would not say. He has gone somewhere for work, he told her nothing of his plans to leave. He does not even know about the child. Do you have a record of them? Perhaps if we could-”

“No, Margaret.” She looked up at him, his face stern - though his eyes gave his soft heart away, for they were full of the love he held for her. “This is not your place. If Mary says he’s gone, he’s gone. Besides, I only have a list of names. ”

They lay in silence for a while.

“How is he?” John asked eventually. “The baby.”

“Very well. He was sleeping for the entirety of my visit. He seems to enjoy the noise of their home, I certainly do not think I could sleep through such a commotion.”

John smiled.

“Good.”

“You miss him.” Margaret stated, for she knew him well enough by now to recognise the glimmer of sadness in his eyes.

She had not known before marriage that it was possible to know someone so intimately that the smallest changes in their emotions could be betrayed by the slightest change in their face - the twitch of a lip, the slight rise of an eyebrow. Yet she could understand John without words.

“Aye, a little I suppose. Still, he’s where he belongs. What did she say about the job in the kitchen?”

“Eagerly accepted, as well as the room in the servants quarters. I have to say, darling, that was a very good idea on your part.”

“I’ve been known to have the odd one or two.”

“Indeed you have. I hope you don’t mind, I presented it as my own. She seems to believe you would have her sacked.”

“As long as she keeps her head down and does her work well, it is no business of mine what she does in her own time.”

“Of course. She will, I am certain of it. Thank you, darling.”

“For what?” John asked, his brow creasing. “I’ve not done anything.”

Oh, but he had done more than he realised. He had changed her life in the best possible way, brought a peace to her heart that she had not known possible. And in a more tangible way, he had allowed her to care for a baby left without warning on the doorstep without disparaging her. He had done all that he could to protect Mary Higgins even though, she knew, he did not agree with her actions. He had done so for love of Margaret, for the simple reason he wanted her to be happy.

“For letting me help her. For understanding me so well, for allowing me to be myself. For loving me precisely as I am.”

* * *

The following December, three days before Christmas, Marlborough Mills was blessed once more.

There was no alley, no darkness, no fear of judgement or consequences. Instead, a warm bed, a knowledgeable doctor and a husband half out of his mind with worry pacing the floors. But, like the babe brought into the world the previous year, the child was a healthy baby boy.

“He has your eyes.”

“I think it goes without saying that he has your hair.” Margaret whispered, fingers running through the long black strands that crowned their baby’s head. “I have never seen a babe with such a mane.”

John chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“You should get some sleep. You’ve had a long day. The doctor said you should rest.”

Margaret almost laughed; she certainly did not need to be told by her husband or doctor that she was exhausted by the day’s labour. She ached all over, the pain of it quite like anything she had ever experienced. Still, the reward she held in her arms had been quite worth it, she was certain. 

“I will. Just a few more moments of staring at him, please.”

There was a knock at the door. John went to answer it, stepping aside so Margaret could see who was there. It was Mary, dressed in her cook’s uniform, balancing a tray of food. Margaret could not see what it was, exactly, but the aroma alone was enough to have her stomach growling. It had been a tiring day, and she was quite famished as well as utterly exhausted.

“‘Scuse me, Mistress. Master. Mrs Thornton asked me to bring you sommat to eat.”

Margaret sat a little straighter in bed, wincing at the effort. The baby gurgled in her arms, apparently most indignant at being moved so thoughtlessly. She traced a finger down his cheek, the perfect soft skin warm beneath her fingertip. She thought she might burst with love for him, a sensation she had never known before.

“Oh. Thank you, Mary. It must be very late, I am sorry to keep you up on my account.”

Mary shook her head. She smiled; the girl was still timid, still hesitant in her speech, but there was genuine happiness in her eyes. It did Margaret good to see it, to know that her interference in Mary’s situation had not been misguided or naive in its belief, however well intended.

“No bother, Mistress. We’re all happy to know you and the little one are well. Everyone’s right pleased for you.” Mary said.

In her near year in service at Marlborough Mills, Margaret had seen a true change in Mary Higgins. She had blossomed; out of the shadows of her father and sister (God rest her soul), she had truly come into her own. A fine cook and a fierce mother, Margaret had felt great pride in just how far the girl had come in such a short time.

“Thank you. Would you like to see him?”

Mary nodded hesitantly, setting down the tray of food and walking over to the bed. She looked down at the babe in Margaret’s arms, her face softening. A wave of guilt spread over Margaret; was it wrong to invite her to see the baby? Was it reminding Mary of her own childbirth, a year ago this week? Tears filled Margaret’s eyes at the thought that she might be being terribly insensitive.

If Mary thought so, she did not show it. She reached out a hesitant hand and touched the dark strands atop the baby’s head, beaming down at him. She snatched her hand back, seemingly worried she had stepped out of line by touching the child without permission.

“His hair is so unusual, isn’t it?” Margaret laughed. “I certainly did not expect there to be so much of it.”

Mary hummed a little response, her eyes still fixed on the little one.

“He’s lovely, Mistress. What’ll you name him?”

“George, for Mr Thornton’s father.” Margaret said. “His middle name Richard, for mine. How is David?”

Mary had thought that the name given to the baby rather suited him, deciding to keep it. His middle name was Nicholas, and he had been christened as such the previous January. Margaret stood as his godmother, an unexpected but most welcome position that she took very seriously indeed.

“Sound asleep.” Mary smiled, the mention of her beloved son lighting her face as vividly as the sun on water. “God keep you both, Miss. I’ll bid you goodnight.”

“Goodnight Mary.” Margaret called as Mary hastily made her way out of the room.

The door clicked closed, and it was just the three of them once more. Margaret looked to her son, then to the man who the child mirrored so closely. How much could change in a year. As Margaret looked into the sweet face of the tiny life in her arms, she was glad things had worked out precisely as they had needed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting the final chapter. I hope you enjoyed this little story, thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas to you all. Thank you for all your ongoing support of my writing this year. This story will be updated and complete before New Year, I really hope you enjoy it. Stay safe.


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